


As Time Passes

by wishingforromance



Category: Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Depression, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Immortality, Resentment, Self-Hatred
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-12
Updated: 2013-05-12
Packaged: 2017-12-11 14:37:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/799818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wishingforromance/pseuds/wishingforromance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Time is not on Simon's side.</p>
            </blockquote>





	As Time Passes

**Author's Note:**

> This is a response to a prompt on tumblr that asked for a sad fic.

Time is a funny thing. Sometimes it takes you hostage. You are aware of every passing second and it drags you, kicking and screaming, into a new day whether you’re ready for it or not. Then there are the times when it passes quietly and unnoticed, like a stranger driving past your house at two in the morning. Simon and Isabelle’s last ten years together had been a lot like the latter.

Those years were a blur. A cloud of midnight kisses, and arguments over whether or not Isabelle had put too much milk in the oatmeal, and tiffs over whether they should see an action movie or “The Hobbit”, and quiet nights together in front of the television, and late nights out fighting demons.

Now, Simon was caught in a seemingly endless haze of apathy and emptiness. Time had swallowed him whole. He was caught in a life without definition; one without Clary, without his mother and sister, without Isabelle. He hated them. They had abandoned him to this hell, to a never-ending cycle of morning-noon-night that he feared really would continue into eternity. God did he miss them.

Simon wasn't alone, though. He wasn't quite pathetic enough to live by himself in a cabin in the woods with absolutely no social interaction. Not yet, anyway. He managed to form tenuous relationships with people. Sometimes, they were even attractive women who would smile at him and pretend they didn't see the emptiness. Or maybe they would smile because they _could_ see it, lurking in a smile that pulled unnaturally taut, in a grin that was just slightly too wide and eyes that refused to crinkle at the sides. Then again, maybe Simon was just better at pretending than he realized.

All of them left eventually. Simon couldn't blame them, really. It must be difficult to live with him. In bed, he would touch them reverently, tracing almost-faded scars as he rocked into them in the dark. In the morning, though, when the sunlight would bring out unfamiliar freckles or eyes that were the wrong color, he couldn’t bring himself to look at them. Even the ones that stayed for a while eventually seemed to realize that they would never be enough. They left very soon after that.

He had friends, of course. They were decent people who seemed to enjoy his jokes and who would occasionally take him out for drinks. Simon had trouble keeping in touch with them, though. After all, his new friends would probably think he was strange if he told them that he spent his days trying to forget dates that were written on death certificates no one else seemed to remember. He would get strange looks if he told them that some days he was too busy trying to keep time from drowning him to even get out of bed.

Time—the source of all of his problems. It was ironic. He always seemed to come across people who wanted more of it. More time to go back to school, to find better jobs, to live their lives to its utmost. Simon did his best to avoid them. They never seemed to understand how cruel time could be. How it could leave you behind even when you had more of it than you knew what to do with. How more time could be a curse wrapped in a pretty bow. Simon had all of the time that anyone could possibly desire. He would give anything to make it stop. 


End file.
